


mr. right fit

by syari



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based on a Tumblr Post, F/M, First Meetings, One Shot, tube-related inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 22:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syari/pseuds/syari
Summary: from a tumblr prompt:AU oneshot where James is quietly taking the tube somewhere and Mary Macdonald is acting like a drunken lout so Lily immediately starts apologising to him for her drunk friend but here’s the twist—she’s also drunk.(Or, the one in which Mary MacDonald is the perfect wingwoman.)





	mr. right fit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GhostofBambi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostofBambi/gifts).



> this is from [ this post](http://ghost-of-bambi.tumblr.com/post/178209667206) and i couldn't resist responding. enjoy!

The warbling singing isn't what makes James pull his earbuds out. Nor is it the high-pitched laughter that follows (indeed, that makes him thankful for their limited ability to muffle sound), nor the loud shushing over hiccoughing giggles. He's perfectly happy ignoring the typical chaotic unpredictability of friday night tube traffic, ensconced in his imagined bubble of privacy, until it's rather forcibly shattered by the sudden armful of a very short, very drunk, very amused woman who slings her arm around his waist to prevent him jumping away in shock. 

"How about this one, Lily?" she slurs. James is too busy trying to delicately extricate himself without dropping her on the suspiciously sticky floor, wobbly as she was on her precariously tall shoes, to decipher her drunken nonsense until another set of hands enters his vision to help pull them apart.

"Oh my god, Mary!" The redhead (and _oh_ , James thought weakly, _oh_ ) gasps as though stifling her own laughter in an attempt at sternness as she tucks an arm under the black-haired woman's back, bending down almost comically to support her. "I'm so sorry, really, are you okay?" 

It takes James more than a second to realise that last was directed at him (and of course it was, how could he have gotten so lost in her green eyes if she weren't looking right at him?). He covers his distraction with a careless wave of his hand, wincing at the rattle of his earbuds hitting the nearby pole. "It's fine, really. More than fine."

She arches an eyebrow, and he feels like such an idiot before she huffs a laugh and leans in conspiratorily. "She's just being dramatic because she thinks I need to get laid," she whispers, her eyes bright under the train lights, and James is almost too bowled over to recognise the particular caution in her movements.

But he does, and he wasn't raised to take advantage of drunken women, no matter the quiet disappointment sitting in his stomach that she probably won't even remember him tomorrow. He smiles politely, keeping a careful distance from her freckled arm near his side ( _freckles, really, it's completely unfair_ ). "Sounds like a good mate."

"Damn right, Mr. Right Fit," Mary mumbles from where she's tucked into Lily's side, and James isn't sure who flushes brighter, him or Lily, but he can't help laughing even as she stammers another apology that bleeds into another quiet laugh. Fuck, he's in trouble.

This could not be more evident than when she shakes her head, shoots him a conspiratorial look, and leans in again to whisper, "She's not wrong, you know."

James about swallows his tongue. The universe hates him tonight, he's sure of it. Maybe that's why he ends up giving her his phone number, wheedled from him by her gorgeous pleading eyes and Mary's snickered encouragements in the flustered moments before the two women's stop, even though he knows nothing will come of it. He knows she won't remember him. He knows if she does, she'll probably be too embarrassed to reach out, if she even would be interested at all.

He knows this, and so the next afternoon he very carefully does not shriek ( _shut up, Sirius_ ) when a text from an unknown number pops up in his inbox.

_received: 12:56  
hey mr. right fit ;)_

Fuck, he's in so much trouble. He can't wait.


End file.
